


If I Could Rewind

by soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Guilty Dean Winchester, Guilty Pleasures, M/M, Masturbation, Scent Kink, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean spanked Sam, he can't stop thinking about it. When Sam comes home covered in dirt and sweat after a soccer game, Dean loses his self-control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Could Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Sam is fourteen.

Dean burns through the days. All of his dreams are in technicolour, in bursts of flame. John is still out on the hunt and Sam breezed through the exam the week before. Dean doesn’t have anything to fill his time. The nearby town is small, close-knit, and already have boys for yard work. He asked a girl to put a note in the gas stop window, but he watched her tear it up. There’s enough money for a few weeks, all tied at the bottom of duffles, and Dean popped carpet and a floorboard to store more. He knows where to stamp his heel and there’s no sign of disturbance.

_“Damnit, Sammy. You think I wanna hurt you? See you like this?”_

He shudders. That’s his brother. His fourteen-year-old brother. Dean closes his eyes and all that he can see is Sam’s reddened ass. He remembers the way that Sam fell asleep in his arms, naked from the waist down. Dean had punished him, but he’d soothed afterwards. He had kept rubbing the sore skin. It was only when Sam moved that his breath had hitched. His finger had slipped along him and found that hole.

Dean had lain awake and touched it for hours.

When Sam walks back into the motel room, he’s sheepish. Dean widens his eyes. Sam’s knees are green. The red and white uniform is stuck to his skin, smudged with more green and thick with mud. As soon as the door is shut behind him, he kicks off his soiled shoes and leaves them under the window.

“Sammy.”

Dean can’t breathe. A knot ties around his chest. Sam’s hair is slick with sweat. There’s a shine that runs down the front of his neck. Even his face is smudged brown. It’s only the tinge of red that lets Dean move, walk forward to hold Sam’s jaw.

“It’s nothing, Dean, really, I just—”

“Who hurt you?”

“No one, jeez. Just a soccer ball.”

“Across the goddamn face?”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Fuck, Sammy.”

Dean thumbs over the graze below Sam’s cheek. Sam winces. He turns his head so his face is against Dean’s palm. Dean steps a little closer, into that sweet gap and it hits him. That scent. Beneath the drying earth is Sam’s sweat. Dean leans in and Sam turns to look at him. His eyebrows twitch into a confused frown.

Before he can do something stupid, Dean backs away. “You, uh, you better get cleaned up there, Sammy.”

Sam nods and takes off his soiled shirt. He balls it up and drops it outside the bathroom door. Dean follows with his eyes and runs them down the contours of Sam’s back. His shoulder-blades are defined. There’s an extra shadow at the base of Sam’s spine, where his hips taper. Dean’s mouth is dry. Sam doesn’t think when he kicks out of the shorts, either. They land on top of the shirt.

Dean takes a step forward, but Sam shuts the bathroom door behind him. There’s a creak and the water starts. Dean grabs the front of his jeans. They’re tight again, tighter then they should be. He can hear Sam pull the plastic curtain and Dean’s breath shudders. Dean crosses the small room to stand outside of the door. When he closes his eyes, he can almost hear the water run down Sam’s skin.

Red catches the edge of his vision. Dean turns. He picks up the shirt. It’s still damp,  darker in a V at the front. Before he can stop himself, he buries his face in it. His fists ball and he breathes deeply. It’s thick with sweat, with Sam.

It’s not enough.

Dean drops the shirt and picks up the shorts. His limbs feel numb, but his cock twitches. The shorts smell better. Stronger. His tongue snakes out and the tip brushes the seam at the crotch. One hand cups the material and his other works at the front of his jeans. The bitter taste makes Dean groan. He licks again, laps at it.

“Fuck.”

He’s gone. Dean scrambles to unzip himself. He tugs his cock through the gap and tugs again. His nose is buried in the material and he sweeps his thumb over his tip. A few strokes and he’s covered himself in precome. Dean stumbles back so he can sit on the bed. He kisses over the shorts’ crotch and imagines that Sam’s still in there.

He’s going to Hell.

Dean flicks his hand around until it’s inside the shorts. He kisses it again. He mouths a finger through the material. It’s Sam’s cock in there. He draws the material, and his finger, into his mouth. He sucks hard. His other hand pumps faster. He groans. Dean’s hips rock up to fuck his palm. The wet sound fills the motel room, hidden under Sam’s shower.

When he comes, he cries into the shorts. Dean’s stomach knots. He looks at the red, much darker now that it’s covered in his saliva. He can’t help it. Dean lowers the shorts until he slowly wipes it over his hand, over his cock. He looks over it again, now streaked with his come. His eyes screw shut. His fists curl around them and he throws them back over to the forgotten shirt. Ashamed, he tucks himself away.

A few minutes pass and Sam opens the bathroom door. Steam follows him. He smiles and Dean forces one to match.

“You okay, Dean? You kinda look, I don’t know, weird.”

“I, I’m fine, Sammy. Feel better?”

He nods. “I was kind of all disgusting.”

Dean looks away. Guilt wraps a line around his throat. He nods. Him, too.


End file.
